


Things that go Thump in the Night

by Uniasus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Kid Fic, Pre Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:36:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, it wasn’t a thunderstorm or the creaking of trees outside her window that made her eyes open.  She stared into the darkness, listening, waiting, for what had woken her.  Scriitch.  It sounded like something heavy being dragged over a rough surface, but by no means a scary noise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things that go Thump in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> First on ff.net, Dec 2008, here for well, archiving purposes.

She had never been a light sleeper. Crashes of thunder and explosions of light from lightening bolts caused her to jerk upright, gasping for air and clutching Butterball to her chest. Butterball was good to her. She got the stuffed horse from Santa when she was three and was whom she turned to for comfort on stormy nights. No self-respecting eight year old crawled into bed with Mummy and Daddy. 

Tonight, it wasn’t a thunderstorm or the creaking of trees outside her window that made her eyes open. She stared into the darkness, listening, waiting, for what had woken her. Scriitch. It sounded like something heavy being dragged over a rough surface, but by no means a scary noise. 

Hermione pulled back her covers and sung her feet over the side of the bed, feet searching for her fuzzy panda slippers. Finding them, she nestled her feet in their warmth, gathered Butterball in her arms and headed toward the window to check things out. 

Thump! Scriitch. 

It was louder this time, as if the noise was coming from above her. Snow had been knocked from the roof and tumbled past her window. Could it be?

Thump-oof!

Below. It must be!

Scurrying from her bedroom she rushed to the top of the stairs, taking care to tiptoe past Mummy and Daddy’s room. She was not supposed to be up this late. It did not matter, her slippers made no noise on the carpet. Pausing at the top of the stairs she held her breath. Headlights from a car shone through the curtains just out of view. She heard a soft clap and a glow of light came from a source to the right of the stairs. 

Butterball was squeezed tightly as she took in air again while the eight-year-old secretly made her way down the stairs, looking though the railings. The Christmas tree came into view first. It was all lit up with twinkling lights. Sounds of shuffling reached her ears and once she reached the bottom she could see what caused it. 

There, with a cookie in his mouth and a hand is a cranberry colored bag, was a white bearded man wearing a red suit trimmed in white. 

“Santa!” she breathed. 

The man looked up and chuckled. It was a low and soft laugh, careful as to not wake up sleeping parents, and it made her recall being covered in flour while helping Mommy bake cookies last week. 

“I was hoping to see you tonight,” Such a harsh, yet comforting voice. She was reminded of watching the tele while sitting on Daddy’s lap.

“Really?” Her voice was soft too, but from disbelief rather than care. 

Another chuckle, followed by a smile as the man stood up to his full height. She looked at him. He did look rather jolly and comfortable, with bright blue eyes and a face flushed from the cold. She expected him to be taller than Daddy, but found herself wrong on that account. He’s only as tall as Mummy. 

He turned and she followed the movement, it was hard to not look at him; something seemed to make him stand out and make him more real than the room they were standing in. No wonder he lives in the North Pole, she thought, if he lived here every one would stare. 

Still watching, she noticed he offered her one of the cookies she and Mummy had baked. She smiled at him and approached to take it. 

“I see you enjoyed my present,” His eyes were on the cream colored horse in her arms. 

“Yup,” her voice filled with shyness. It wasn’t everyday one got to talk with Santa Clause. “I named her Butterball.”

“I know. Thank you for taking care of her. Celic took great care in making her for you.”

“Tell Celic thank you for me.”

She looked at him in a scrutinizing way, double checking her facts while nibbling on her cookie. He looked back with a smile, it was like this with most children. Cookie gone, she timidly closed the gap between them and poked his arm. It was solid, and the fabric under her fingers was smoother than the handle of her favorite spoon and softer than they fuzzy warmth that surrounded her feet. She blinked and found he had already crouched down to allow the next test. A soft tug ensured it was a real beard, albeit rougher than she was expecting. 

“You’re real!” she exclaimed while jumping backwards a little. 

“Of course I am! Did you ever doubt?”

“No. Not even after Connor said you couldn’t be real.”

“Now why did Conner say that?”

“Cuz his brother told him there was noo way you could visit every house in the world in one night.”

“Why of course I don’t!”

A look of shock crossed her face. “You don’t?” Puzzlement. A demand to explain.

“You see, not every boy or girl is good. I don’t visit the homes of bad children. And not every house has kids, like Mr. and Mrs. Watson next door.”

She nodded, it made sense. 

“But I do visit a lot of homes, and I get to them all with magic.”

“Magic?” Her voice was breathy with reverence.

A very serious nod. 

“I knew it was real!” She gave a half jump into the air, fist-holding Butterball over her head. Her voice seemed to reverberate through the house, the need for secrecy forgotten in a heartbeat. 

“Shhh!” A finger pressed itself to her lips. “You’re not supposed to be up, remember?” His eyes sparkled with the secret shared between them as he retreated from her personal bubble. 

“Opps!” Fear surfaced in her eyes, but it soon vanished as no noises were heard from above. She smiled a toothy grin, reveling the gap on the left side of her mouth. 

“So…does that mean I can have a magic wand for Christmas?” Her voice was hopeful, but also confident. If anyone could give out a magic wand, it would be Santa Claus. 

The man in front of her laughed heartedly, the action displayed throughout his body. She found herself intrigued with how his belly moved and had a strong desire to poke it. 

“I’m not telling little one! Presents are supposed to be a surprise.”

Her arms crossed over her chest, Butterball dangling from her left hand were a hoof was clutched. She stuck her bottom lip out and pouted for a few moments before dropping her hands to her side with a long, heavy sigh. She knew he was right. 

He smiled fondly at her, then gently turned her around and pushed her toward the staircase. 

“I have work to do, and I can’t leave any presents till you are fast asleep in your bed.” 

Hermione didn’t resist, yawning into Butterball who was now held just below her chin. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to address the man before climbing them. 

“Good night Santa. Happy Christmas.”

“Good night Miss Hermione, and Happy Christmas to you too.”

She smiles sleepily back at him and climbs the stairs. 

~*~

There was no wand under the Christmas tree for her the next morning. The skinny box had been a necklace for Mommy. Santa had not disappointed her however. Her gift was a book on different types of fairies that had illustrations so real she sometimes thought they moved when seen from the corner of her eye. 

Somehow, she knew that a wand would be grasped in her hand one day. Something about Santa had given her that idea. It was not waiting for her under the tree the year she was nine, nor the year she was ten. Instead, roosting near the star on the top of the tree was a letter addressed to her from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the Christmas she was eleven. She ripped the envelope in a hurry and extracted a small note written in a neat hand on a piece of light blue paper that glittered. 

The best magic wands can be found at Olivander’s.  
Merry Christmas Hermione,  
Santa.


End file.
